


Barghest

by ChibiCorgi (MerryCorgis)



Series: FOBCC Works [1]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Gen, Paranormal, Pre-Hiatus (Fall Out Boy)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 03:08:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8429131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MerryCorgis/pseuds/ChibiCorgi
Summary: Black dogs have taken on many names throughout history, but their appearance has only ever meant one thing: death is approaching.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For my FOBCC October prompt: Andy Hurley + Ghost. Many thanks to [if-you-love-me-let-me-spoop](http://www.if-you-love-me--let-me-spoop.tumblr.com) and [rosie-little-sister](http://www.rosie-little-sister.tumblr.com) for doing a quick beta of this for me!

The first time Andy saw the dog, the band had just finished a recording session for Folie a Deux and he was alone in the studio’s parking lot.

It was a large, shaggy mess of black fur that didn't reflect light from the studio’s flickering neon sign. Its eyes were bright crimson, and really, Andy should've known better than to approach it.

He did anyways, because he was a sucker for animals and being maimed by a strange dog would be less painful than playing the mediator in Pete and Patrick’s latest feud.

To Andy's surprise, the dog melted into his touch, making low rumbles of pleasure. Its fur was less matted than it looked, and it felt light and silky beneath his fingers.

He thought about taking it back to his hotel room, smuggling it past the front desk and sneaking it the lunch meat Joe bought when they first arrived in LA but had never opened.

Patrick stormed out of the studio, face flushed as he slung every expletive he knew into the empty lot.

Andy knew better than to ask for specifics. “Want to talk about it?”

Patrick snapped his head towards Andy, eyes wide and his lips pursed. “No,” he said, too quick and too forceful for him to actually mean it. He inhaled deeply, wiping a hand across his face. “Sorry, I just--” He waved his hand around, as if that gave any explanation-- “fucking _Pete_.”

Andy nodded, unfazed by the outburst. Patrick’s volatile temper used to shock him, before they started working on Folie. Andy learned to take it in stride; he hoped Joe and Pete had learned to adapt, too. “He just wants to make the album the best it can be, ‘Trick.” 

“I know, I know.” Patrick sunk against the wall and tugged the lip of his hat to cover his eyes. “I just wish his version of ‘best’ didn’t involve shitting on my ideas.”

Andy glanced down at the dog, hoping that it had an answer that wouldn’t spark another resurgence of Tropical Storm Patrick.

The dog stared back at him, its eyes unblinking. The scent of burnt hair hung in the air.

“I should get going,” Patrick said, although he stayed glued to the wall.

“Yeah.” Andy stared into the lot, not able to bring himself to look Patrick in the eye. “See you tomorrow.”

The silence that came afterwards hung longer than it should’ve and was only broken by Patrick’s car beeping as he unlocked it.

Andy didn’t move until Patrick’s car pulled out of the lot. He fished the keys to his rental out of his pocket. He had full intentions of taking the dog to the hotel, but when he looked down, the dog was gone.

~~

Andy ran into the strange dog a few times in the month after that, and each time it was accompanied by that same stench of burning hair. It was enough to make him do some research, but every search only came back with ghost stories.

Which was ridiculous. Ghosts didn't exist, and ghost _dogs_ definitely didn't exist.

But still, the whole situation with the dog was making Andy uneasy, so he sought Pete's professional opinion.

Which was how he ended up getting roped into decorating Bronx’ nursery.

“Do you think ghosts exist?” Andy asked, his hands full with a stuffed bear that was easily half his size.

“Maybe,” Pete said, taking the bear from Andy and placing it near the window. “I don't know. Your place haunted or something?” He stepped back, eyeing the stuffed animal carefully.

Andy shook his head. “This is going to sound weird, but there's this dog.” He paused, watching Pete fuss over the best place for the bear. “It's black, and smells like it's on fire, and--” He sighed, cheeks flushing over how _stupid_ it all sounded-- “I don't know. It just creeps me out.”

Pete was quiet, playing with how to position the bear’s arms. “Isn't that a death omen or something?” 

The colour drained from Andy's face and a bitter taste filled his mouth. “ _Death omen_?” 

“That's what I've heard.” Pete stood, finally happy with how the stuffed bear looked. “I mean, that's assuming that ghosts exist in the first place.” 

“This isn't making me feel any better,” Andy grumbled. In hindsight, Pete wasn't the best person to turn to for a pep talk.

“Sorry,” Pete said, his brows furrowed. He pushed a box full of baby books towards Andy. “And... thanks. For helping me with this.” He waved his hand in a lazy circle. “With all the fighting that happened in the studio, I was worried you'd say no.”

“Pete,” Andy sighed, “what happened in the studio is in the past. There's no hard feelings. Besides, I can't say no to Bronx.” He cracked a smile and gave Pete a friendly nudge.

Pete rewarded him with a wide grin. “He's not even born yet, you pushover.”

“My point exactly.” Andy shrugged, placing the books on the shelf beneath the window. 

They fell into a rhythm after that, Andy stocking the bookshelf and Pete meticulously arranging a zoo's worth of stuffed animals into the nooks and crannies of the room. Time passed quickly, and Andy soon found himself laying on the carpet while Pete lounged in the rocker beside the crib.

Pete broke the silence. “Earlier, did you mean it when you said all the shit in the studio didn’t bother you?”

“Yes, Pete,” Andy said, careful to keep any annoyance out of his tone. “You had your ideas of what wanted to be done, and everyone else had their own ideas. It’s part of the process, you know?”

Pete made a thoughtful noise. “Do you think Patrick and Joe feel the same way?”

Andy stared at Pete, a frown tugging at his lips. “I can’t read minds,” he said. “I can’t do more than guess, but--”

“But?”

Andy exhaled sharply. “Patrick said that you thought his ideas weren’t good enough for the album.” It felt like some Shakespearean betrayal, but he knew nothing would be done if he left Pete and Patrick to their own devices. “Maybe you didn’t mean to come off that way, but that’s how he saw it. Joe hasn’t said anything to me, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he felt the same way after all the fights and tension recently.”

Pete was still and silent, his eyes focused on something far beyond the walls of the room. “Thanks,” he said, his voice subdued. 

“Should I get going?” Andy asked, pushing himself to his feet. He was overstaying his welcome, really, and staying longer would only exacerbate the problem.

Pete waved his hand, a gesture that either meant ‘go away’ or ‘I don’t care,’ and Andy wasn’t sure which Pete was aiming for.

Andy took the safe path of just leaving, mumbling a curt goodbye and making a beeline for the front door. He made it into his rental car before his phone buzzed with a text. He checked the sender--Pete, unsurprisingly--and shoved his phone back into his pocket. Probably an apology bookended with sad emoticons. When he looked out onto the road, the black dog was standing on the center line, staring at him with its glowing red eyes.

~~

It was months later, after Folie a Deux was released and Fall Out Boy was on tour with Blink-182. Andy had almost forgotten about the ghost dog with touring life taking over most of his thoughts.

The bus was stopped in a city no one knew the name of. The venue was on the outskirts of the city, so there wasn't a lot to do before the show but sit around or go shopping for RVs.

Andy found himself lounging on a patch of grass that hid under the venue’s shadow, watching clouds morph from one shape to another as they passed through the sky. It was nice, he thought, to have time when he didn’t need to be on the move or be surrounded by people.

It was almost a given, then, that when Andy was almost ready to find his zen, he caught a whiff of burning hair. He jolted upright, scanning the grounds for the black dog that had become all too familiar to him in the past year.

Instead, he caught Joe making his way up the slope, with no sign of hair trauma. 

“Do you smell that?” Andy called, in lieu of a proper greeting.

Joe’s face scrunched as he thought it over. “Smell what?” He plopped down beside Andy, his legs crossed.

“Burning,” Andy said, staring at Joe to gauge his reaction. He needed to know that the dog wasn't just in his head.

“No,” Joe said with a slight hesitation, “but I think it might be the gears in your head churning too fast.”

Andy elbowed Joe, hitting the tender spot between his ribs.

Joe inhaled sharply, clutching at his side. “Okay, okay, bad joke,” he hissed, breathing through the pain. 

Andy swallowed the sour taste of guilt that hung in the back of his mouth. Joe didn't deserve that much of a bruising. “You come here just to mock me?”

“No, dude.” Joe flopped back onto the grass. “I'm starting this project, kind of a rock thing, and I need a drummer.” He gazed up at Andy, his wide puppy eyes betraying his casual tone.

Andy blinked. To be fair, he wasn’t sure what to expect from Joe, but a proposition to join a new band wasn’t on his radar. “Is this a side project?”

“Maybe?” Joe shrugged. “I mean, it could be. Wouldn’t be surprised if we took a break, either.”

“Right,” Andy breathed. He saw this coming, honestly. Maybe not like this, or not this soon, but he’d taken part in the whisperings about giving the band a break.

“I have some snippets, if you want to hear them,” Joe said, tugging a hand through his hair.

“Sure,” Andy said, just as he’d done when Pete and Patrick asked him, separately, to listen to their new work. Neither sounded like Fall Out Boy, but both of his bandmates were happy with their new sounds, so Andy held his tongue. 

“Sweet.” Joe shot Andy a half smile, and loosened his grip on his hair. “I’ll send it to you, let me know what you think.” 

Andy nodded, biting his cheek to keep himself from saying something that would ruin Joe’s good mood. 

A shout that sounded eerily like Pete’s caught Joe’s attention.

“I should go,” he said, pushing himself upward to get a better look at the empty parking lot where the ruckus came from. “Pete said something about hiding in Blink’s bus, it sounds like they found him.” He turned back to Andy, biting back a grin. “See you later. Don’t think too hard, alright?”

Andy bid him farewell and found himself returning Joe’s grin despite the weight that settled on his chest. He was glad that everyone was finding new sounds that they enjoyed, but at the same time, Andy only wanted to be a part of Fall Out Boy.

~~

In hindsight, Andy saw it coming. He could probably even pinpoint it to a specific incident, if he thought about it enough. But that morning, when he got the notification that the hiatus announcement had been made public, none of that mattered.

Andy refused to look at his phone after the announcement dropped. His public accounts would be bombarded with fan messages, and his friends who didn’t already know would be texting their condolences.

Fall Out Boy was dormant. Andy was officially the drummer of The Damned Things. None of it mattered to him at the moment; he just wanted to lay in bed and hope that he would wake up.

Instead of some divine signal that everything would sort itself out, Andy got the now-familiar stench of burning fur filling his bedroom.

Andy bolted upright to face the ghost dog standing at the foot of his bed. 

It was his first time seeing the dog up close in daylight; even in the bright light, the dog’s fur didn't reflect anything. 

Andy inhaled sharply, scared to take his eyes off of the dog. This is where he dies, right? After over a year of being stalked by this omen, it would only make sense. So he sat, frozen, waiting for the dog to lunge, or the floor to give out beneath him, or _something_.

The dog calmly padded towards Andy and placed its front paws on his thighs. It was much too light for a dog of its size, but Andy still felt the immense weight of his own dread smothering him.

Andy’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. Part of him wanted to punch the mutt and make a run for it, but the rational part of him knew his fist would pass right through and the animal lover in him knew that the dog didn’t deserve the potential pain.

The dog stared Andy in the eye. Its eyes held a wisdom that told him it had been in this position many times before.

“Just do it already,” Andy whispered.

The dog breathed out a puff of hot air. Its odour of decay mixed with the now-ambient scent of burnt hair to make Andy's stomach wring itself into knots. The dog forced itself into Andy's lap and hooked its snout over his shoulder.

Andy loosened his clenched hands and carefully wrapped them around the dog. Its fur was as soft as the first night he encountered it, and stroking the dog calmed his nerves. He found himself blinking back tears and scrubbing the back of his hand across his face to catch the stragglers that rolled down his cheeks. “It wasn't supposed to turn out like this,” he said, his voice shaking.

Andy didn't leave his house that day, and the dog refused to leave his side. Death didn't come to him in the form he had expected, but it stung just as badly.


End file.
